La Vie D'Aragorn
by Ruby Isabella
Summary: Aragorn cannot help himself. Based on the movie more than the book. See notes. Slash: AragornHaleth.


Title: La Vie D'Aragorn  
  
by Ruby Isabella  
  
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction that was created neither for sale nor profit. In fact, it was created entirely out of a need to submit a story for this "secret slasher" challenge thingy. The characters and places are owned by Tolkein.  
  
Summary: Aragorn cannot help himself.  
  
Notes: AU (some people who might have died don't, some people who won't die do, or, rather, they do so sooner than the movie and book would have them do it)  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
Careful not to interrupt the thin light that spilled through the window from the night's quarter moon, Aragorn settled, gently, at the edge of Haleth's narrow bed. The boy's eyelids fluttered. His chest rose with a sudden intake of breath, but he did not wake.  
  
Aragorn's hand rose on its own. Catching the movement in the corner of his eye, he stilled it, willfully. He had vowed to only look in on the boy.  
  
_The boy._  
  
Haleth's boyhood had been cast aside at Helm's Deep as more than twenty Uruk-hai fallen before his sword--a good sword, Aragorn had told him prior to the battle. A good sword. To this day, Haleth believed so solidly in those words that would carry no other sword, no matter how well made.  
  
Aragorn's fingertips brushed a stray curl of golden hair from the boy's forehead. At the realization of what his fingertips were doing--_I am drawn to him, as if under a spell_--he curled them into his hand.  
  
A sliver of white appeared beneath Haleth's lids. Before Aragorn could rise fully to his feet with an explanation for being in Haleth's chambers uninvited and so late at night, Haleth's eyes opened.  
  
"My King!" He pushed up onto his elbows. "I dreamt of you."  
  
"How do you know you are not dreaming still?" he asked, seeing a way out of his predicament.  
  
Haleth's hand rose from atop the covers, fingers outstretched just as his own had been moments ago. He watched the boy touch his arm, softly at first, and then firmly, testing the solidness of his flesh. He turned his attention to Haleth's eyes, pale blue and widening in the moonlight.  
  
"Forgive me, my lord." Haleth's fingers pulled back.  
  
"Forgive me, Haleth, son of Hama." Aragorn's fingers found the stray curl of golden hair again and again carried it away from Haleth's brow. "Forgive me this." His lips touched Haleth's. Haleth's breath drew in--stealing Aragorn's own--in surprise.  
  
Aragorn stood. The night air was cold against his lips, cold compared to the remembered warmth of Haleth's. "It would have to be a dream," he murmured, and then he turned away.  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
_I am drawn to him, as if by a spell._  
  
_A fire in his name burns within me._  
  
_I cannot stay away._  
  
He brought the back Arwen's hand to his lips. She brushed his hair from his brow, then held his face in her hands.  
  
"Tell me what is wrong, husband."  
  
He laid his hands over hers, closed his eyes. _Now that Arwen has bound herself to me, why is she not enough?_ Finally, he said, "A spell that I am powerless against. I know not its purpose...."  
  
Arwen leaned close. "I know of a more powerful spell."  
  
Aragorn lifted his face, allowed her to slide her hands free of his. She laid them on her belly, framing it with her fingers. "The spell of fatherhood."  
  
He sucked in his breath. Hope. It was the spell of hope. "Fatherhood," he said. He laid his cheek on her belly and closed his eyes. Inside grew his hope.  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
For nearly eight months the spell of impending fatherhood and the love of his wife won over the strange spell that he felt had been cast over him. It helped that during that time he made efforts to avoid the boy he had taken in, he'd thought at the time, as something of a son, after the boy's father was killed by Uruk-hai.  
  
_A son._ It was possible that he would have one for real, and soon.  
  
"My King."  
  
Aragorn's shoulders tightened. He turned, knowing already who he would see, and there he stood: Haleth. In eight months, his body had filled out; he had become the lion that suited that golden mane of his. His masculinity should have dampened Aragorn's need for him, for Aragorn had never harbored interest in a man, nor a male of any race--not even Legolas's delicate features and grace had tempted him. Yet the breadth of Haleth's shoulders and his newly grown facial hair stoked the embers of the fire that smoldered still within Aragorn.  
  
"My King, forgive me."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Our burdens seem consistently to take us to opposite ends of the court. I have not had a chance to offer my congratulations."  
  
Aragorn wrinkled his brow.  
  
"You're to be a father...."  
  
Aragorn's mouth opened. Given only half a moment in Haleth's presence, he had forgotten himself--and his wife. His soon-to-be child. His place in the world.  
  
"Thank you, Haleth. It means much to me. I appreciate your going out of the way to deliver your message in person." He focused his mind on the papers on the table behind him--bureaucracy and nothing more it was, but he counted on the mundanity of it to rescue him from this encounter.  
  
"I dreamt of you once," Haleth said.  
  
Aragorn's heart quickened. Time spooled between them as he struggled to maintain nonchalance, and only when he was certain he had it did he speak. "To dream of kings.... It sounds as mundane as what kings dream of."  
  
"What do kings dream of?"  
  
Aragorn forced a smile. "I can't speak for other kings, but as for myself, when I dream at all it's of crops and trade negotiations and, occasionally, elves and dwarves." He waved a hand as he turned toward his table and its saving grace of paperwork. "None of it ever makes much sense."  
  
"No," Haleth said quietly. "None of it ever does."  
  
Aragorn studied a blur of ink on parchment, the skin behind his ears taut as he listened for Haleth's departure. It came after what seemed like an eternity but only could have been half a minute, if even that long.  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
He laid his hand on Arwen's full belly. Neither she nor the child within woke at his touch. He kissed her cheek, then hesitated, warring with himself.  
  
Sleep refused to take him. His body refused to let him lie still and wait for morning.  
  
His goal, once he was in his shoes and cloak, was the courtyard--meditation in the solitude and the moonlight. Contemplation. A working toward a solution to his dilemma.  
  
Instead, a door came to him. He did not remember turning down the halls, turning, and then turning again. His feet carried him to Haleth's chambers on their own.  
  
_Liar._  
  
He had willfully chosen to ignore his feet in order to allow them to take him where the fire in his belly urged him to go.  
  
His fingertips pushed the heavy wooden door, and as though it knew and respected his secret, it swung open silently. He slipped inside.  
  
It was too late to leave. His breath stopped. Haleth sat on the edge of his bed in his night shirt, its collar open to reveal the strong chest of a man.  
  
"I had hoped you would come."  
  
"Forgive my intrusion. I made a misjudgment--"  
  
"I have had many months in which to pay attention to my dreams. Many months in which to learn that I can control their outcome, if I am conscious of the fact that I am dreaming."  
  
"Haleth...."  
  
Haleth raised a finger to his lips. "Shhh."  
  
Aragorn approached him, anger rising. "Whatever you have done, whatever witch you have consulted--"  
  
"Me? Whatever _I_ have done?"  
  
"This spell, Haleth. It is not fair to my wife. It is not fair to the child in her womb. To Gondor!"  
  
"This spell." Haleth rose. "This spell is not mine. It is you who comes to me in my sleep."  
  
"Do you wish me to go?"  
  
Haleth bit his lip.  
  
"Who are you, Haleth son of Hama? Who are you that you can draw me here against my will, against my obligations and devotions to other people?"  
  
"I do no such thing. I wish your company, but.... I...." His eyebrows drew down in frustration, in pain. His voice, when it came again, was quiet. "I have no power to draw you here, My King. If I did, I would not use it as you accuse me. I could not."  
  
"No? What about controlling the outcome of your dreams? What about taking charge of them?"  
  
"My King.... I thought you had come for.... It is I, it turns out, who has made the misjudgment."  
  
Aragorn lowered his head. His eyes searched the patterns of stone in the floor, what patterns he could make out in the moonlight. He licked his lip and tasted sweat. The only sound in the room was Haleth's breathing, for he did not notice his own. Nor did he notice the scent of his own sweat--only Haleth's. The scent of fear. Of anticipation. He lifted his head. Haleth's chest rose and fell with quick breaths. He met Haleth's eyes, and Haleth looked away.  
  
"What would you have done, had you taken control of your dream?"  
  
Still averting his gaze, Haleth licked his lips. "Please, My King...." His voice was a whisper.  
  
Aragorn grasped Haleth's shoulder. "What would you have done? Something you have done with other--" He struggled to pull the word from his throat. "With other men? Something you _would_ do with women?"  
  
Haleth's eyes closed. He tilted his head back, as if offering his neck to Aragorn's sword.  
  
Aragorn's voice came not from his head, which would have been weak, nor from his chest, which would have been commanding, but from his throat where the words were roughened with need before they were pushed out. "What would you have done?"  
  
Haleth lowered his head. Still without looking at Aragorn, he said, "Kneel before me, My King."  
  
As Aragorn let the words sink in, he could almost feel the cold, hard floor against his knees. But his knees did not bend.  
  
Haleth's eyes turned slowly toward him. "In my dream...you kneel."  
  
For a moment, Aragorn's entire being became nothing but breathing--in, out, in, out. He knew he should turn for the door, or at least argue with himself against following such orders, but all he could do was listen to his breath, feel his chest and abdomen moving in, out, in, out.  
  
His knees softened. He set one on the floor, then other. He bowed his head. "In your dream, I kneel." The fire ascending within him was an addiction; its heat clutched him in its grip.  
  
"Take off your cloak," Haleth said, stepping back until his calves touched his bed. As Aragorn undid the clasp at his neck, Haleth sat. "And your shirt."  
  
Aragorn dropped the woolen cloak to the floor as he reached with his other hand to undo his shirt. Before and above him, Haleth slipped his hand inside the open collar of his own nightshirt. As Aragorn watched, mesmerized, he felt Haleth's gaze on him, unwavering--Haleth watching him watch.  
  
"What now?" Aragorn asked, his voice still rough.  
  
Both of Haleth's knees dropped to the floor at once. His hand rubbed at his chest under the thin cloth of his nightshirt. Aragorn's nipples ached for such attention. The fires burned within him as Haleth approached on his knees.  
  
The first touch he had from Haleth was the back of Haleth's hand, through Haleth's nightshirt.  
  
The fires consumed him. He lifted his hand.  
  
Hurried footfalls in the hall broke him from his spell.  
  
"What is it?" Haleth asked. Both men stared at the door.  
  
"Get up." Aragorn pulled his shirt on as he rose to his own feet. Doors down the hall from Haleth's room were pounded on. Rushed voices followed, then more footfalls.  
  
A pounding came at Haleth's door. Haleth looked toward him for guidance.  
  
"Answer it." Aragorn fastened his cloak at his neck.  
  
"Know you the whereabouts of the king?" came a voice through the crack of the opened door.  
  
Aragorn felt as much as heard Haleth's hesitance and uncertainty. He strode toward the door. "What is it?" he asked, pulling the door fully open.  
  
"The queen...."  
  
The words propelled him from the room. "Is she all right?" He hurried down the hall with his messenger at his heels.  
  
"Your child is coming."  
  
_My child._ Aragorn's gut twisted. His child was coming, and it had been the farthest thought from his mind.  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
Arwen's labor lasted seventeen hours and produced a boy, an heir to the throne. Eldarion. Aragorn whispered the name as he clutched his wife's cold hand between both of his own. He pressed his forehead to her knuckles.  
  
"You were supposed to outlive me," he said. "That had been the deal."  
  
At the funeral, he lifted his head only once, in time to see a golden mane turn away.  
  
The moment his obligation at the funeral ended--though many years from the moment that the pain would end--Aragorn broke away, leaving Tower Hall in such haste that his men--men that Haleth had once been among--followed, each with a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready.  
  
Aragorn threw open the door to Haleth's room.  
  
Only the narrow bed and a heavy, wooden wardrobe greeted him.  
  
He threw open the doors to the wardrobe, and found it empty.  
  
"King Aragorn...."  
  
Aragorn turned to the window, dropping a knee to the bed so that he could look out it. Far below, heading for Minas Tirith's Great Gate, rode a golden-haired rider on a black horse. Aragorn's eyes fastened to the slight- -almost unnoticeable, especially to one who was not looking for it--yet familiar bounce at the rider's side.  
  
_This is a good sword, Haleth, son of Hama._  
  
Aragorn's hand fisted.  
  
"My King."  
  
A hand touched his shoulder, tentatively. The rider disappeared at the gate. Aragorn watched, but the rider did not reappear.  
  
His head dropped. Finally, he straightened and turned from the window.  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
For seventeen years, Aragorn devoted himself to fatherhood and kingship. He took not another wife, made no close companionship with another in the court.  
  
"Your mercy to even those who betray you," said Eldarion, at breakfast only days after his seventeenth birthday, "has long won the love and respect of your people, father. Why cannot you show mercy to yourself?"  
  
"I do not know what you mean." Aragorn set down his cup. Eldarion's wisdom and perception never failed to surprise him. He credited Arwen's lineage with instilling him with those traits; his own wisdom had been hard-won, and often--more often as time wore on--he doubted its existence at all.  
  
"You make these halls feel empty when you walk them at night, as if you have no faithful son, no close advisors, no prospects for wives...."  
  
"Have we not business to attend to? Gondor does not grind to a halt so that we can enjoy a leisurely meal...s."  
  
"Father--"  
  
Just then, the two men were drawn to the great windows of the breakfast room to see what the hurry of horse hooves beyond was about. There they saw a group of men riding closely together toward the castle. Aragorn laid his hand on the stone that framed the window. He leaned forward. In the midst of the riders, he made out a figure slumped on a tall, black horse.  
  
"Someone's hurt."  
  
Eldarion followed him out of the room.  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
"We came upon him just beyond Ered Nimrais."  
  
Aragorn hardly heard. He leaned close to Haleth's face, touched his cheek. His golden mane had become pale, thanks to the sun, and was matted around his head. Leaves and bits of wood were tangled in it. His beard had grown full and that, too, had become tangled. Lines marked the corners of his eyes, lines that would become creases forged by frequent squinting in the sun should those eyes open.  
  
"Haleth," he breathed.  
  
"My King. I need space in which to work." The court's physician leveled a look at him.  
  
"Yes. Of course." Aragorn backed a few steps away, but he did not leave.  
  
After an hour of watching, of darting his gaze between Haleth's wounds and the physician's eyes to see if he could read Haleth's fate, he broke. "How bad is it? Will he...." His words caught sideways in his throat.  
  
"His wounds are deep." A gash opened Haleth's belly, another his thigh. "I fear, too, there is damage we cannot yet see." The physician laid his hand over the bandage he had fastened over Haleth's side. "He needs rest. It's the only thing now we can give him."  
  
Aragorn nodded.  
  
"I will check in on him every hour. If you could station one of your men here to look over him in case--"  
  
"I will stay."  
  
The physician nodded.  
  
Aragorn ordered the others out of the room as the physician made his way out. When the door closed, he stood alone over the bed upon which they'd laid Haleth. He took Haleth's hand and waited.  
  
Fevers came, coating Haleth's skin with sweat, and then with goosebumps. In the grip of these fevers, Haleth would moan and, sometimes, shout words that made no sense. Aragorn cooled his forehead with wet cloths and warmed his body with blankets.  
  
Once, Haleth opened his eyes, squinting despite the dim light of the bedside lamp.  
  
"My king." His voice disintegrated like old paper.  
  
"My Haleth." Aragorn's hand gripped Haleth's. He pushed a pale curl back from Haleth's damp forehead.  
  
Haleth's lips moved. His eyes squeezed closed as though in frustration and exhaustion. He took a deep breath. Aragorn leaned close, and Haleth's lips began to form soft words again.  
  
"I have either died, my King, or I have made it, finally, to look upon you before I do."  
  
"If you die now, I will kill myself to come after you."  
  
"My--"  
  
"Sleep. We'll talk when you're better."  
  
More fevers came and passed, as did the days. Haleth neither opened his eyes nor spoke. At moments, he woke Aragorn with labored, rattling breaths. At other moments, he woke Aragorn with silence.  
  
"Are you here to tell me I'm a fool?" Aragorn asked Eldarion, who leaned against the chamber's wall, watching him.  
  
"Never, father. It brings me hope to see you devoted to someone besides myself and your kingdom in general. I pray he wakes, for both your sake and his."  
  
Aragorn turned to Haleth. He brushed his lips over the knuckles of the hand that he held between his own. He squeezed his eyes against the tears that threatened. Hope seemed to suddenly slip away.  
  
After a time, Eldarion wordlessly left.  
  
Aragorn's leaned his head against the wall beside him, exhausted. He laid his hand on Haleth's chest, which rose and fell with shallow breaths. The rhythm lulled Aragorn into sleep.  
  
"Water."  
  
At first, Aragorn thought it a dream. He blinked open his eyes. In the weak light of the lamp, he saw Haleth, his eyes pressed shut, lick his cracked lips.  
  
"Water," said a voice like the dessert again.  
  
"Water!" Aragorn shouted, rising. "Someone get water!" He worried that no one would hear him, but could not bring himself to pull away from Haleth's side. "Someone bring him water!"  
  
The door opened. The head of one of his men leaned into the room.  
  
"Water, damn it. Bring me some water!"  
  
At the sound of footsteps hurrying away, Aragorn turned back to Haleth. "It's coming." He laid his palm against Haleth's warm cheek. "Water is coming. Just hold on, my Haleth, son of Hama. Hold on."  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
Aragorn, despite his D?nadan and Elvish heritage, lived only another sixty- two years. Haleth, his constant companion throughout that time, lived just two months longer, without appetite, succumbing finally to his wish to return to the side of his king and only 


End file.
